Like A Bohemian Tornado
by ProngsLovesRent
Summary: Roger's been locked up in the loft trying to write a song when some of the Bohos drop in and wreak havoc like a Bohemian tornado. Incredibly random One-shot. Roger's POV. Rated T for my foul mouth.


**A/N: Okay so random Roger POV one-shot I wrote because I had nothing better to do. Dedicated to SiriusLovesRent, because his friends swept through his house like a fucking tornado the other day and broke all his shit. And we sincerely apologize…Anyway, read and review. **

Disclaimer: Jon Larson owns RENT, dead or alive. 

_Day Nine of Apartment Solitude __  
No contact with the outside world_

_Elapsed time in this loft: About 204 hours  
Original Goal: Write a song that doesn't suck.  
Result so far:  
-37 failed attempts at something decent  
-500 million consumed TV dinners.  
-Over a week's worth of unshaven facial hair. Sex-ay_

I put down my pen before I start to write about anything more…err…_personal, _like my positively delightful body odor. Proceeding to tear the page out, crumple it up into a ball, and chuck it across the room where it lands in a pile with a shitload of reject songs about everything from AIDS to Mimi to frozen foods.

It's all those goddamn TV dinners.

Okay deep breath annnnnnd write the first thing that pops into your head.

_Mimi_.

Now what is there about my dear Mimibear that I can make into a song?

Well there are those big brown eyes…

Shit, I've done that, haven't I?

I stare down at the notebook. The page is empty except for that one word. I can do this. I've written songs. Why is it suddenly so goddamn hard? It's just writing! Yeah…just writing. I will not let a blank sheet intimidate me. I've got the skills…I'm the man… Yeah I'm Roger fucking Davis! HEAR ME ROAR!

Alright now I'm scaring myself. No more roaring.

I look up from the page. Look who's leaning against the wall in the corner of the room, glaring at me.

"What are you looking at?" I snap at her.

Evil good for nothing fender guitar just sits there and stares me down. 

"Bitch."

I've gotta stop talking to my guitar. Or at least stop fighting with it. When you're losing in a fight with your guitar, you've hit the lowest of the lows. I can't help it though…She's like a little musical person who never stops giving me the fucking silent treatment. She's like those psycho girlfriends who won't leave you alone until you tune them. Or pay attention to them. Whatever. Someone once told me that fights with inanimate objects are like the Special Olympics. Whether you win or lose, you're still retarded. 

I guess that's pretty true.

But I'll be damned if that thing is not giving me the dirtiest of dirty guitar looks. 

I'm about to lunge at my beloved instrument when the loft door slides open and saves my sanity.

"ROGEYYYYYY WE'RE HOMMMMMMMMMMME!" Maureen yells, bursting into the apartment with her usual energy. Collins, Angel, Mark, and Mimi follow her, all as happy and shaven and squeaky clean as can be. Hygiene is so overrated…I have music. I have _art_. Screw fucking soap.

"Holy shit!" Collins exclaims, holding his nose.

Ah, they seem to have caught a whiff of the magic.

"Sorry guys," Mark apologizes, wielding his camera, and shooting the whole painfully pathetic scene, "Forgot to tell you, he hasn't bathed… Close up on Roger Davis who has given up life itself for the sake of writing another song." He shoves the thing in my face for a minute and then continues to film the remains of my past meals that are scattered on the floor. 

Mimi goes to open a window. Traitor. She should love me in cleanliness and in smell. 

"What the hell are you guys doing here?" I ask. They're interrupting my process. They're supposed to leave me alone until I finish writing my song! I have everything I need.

"Just popping in honey," Angel answers cheerily. 

"I wasn't expecting visitors." 

"Did we need an invitation?" Mimi questions me, giving me the same glare the guitar just gave me. Yes, I still believe it glared at me. She starts picking at my food. _MY_ food!

"Hey!" 

"What?" My oblivious girlfriend enquires. 

"That's mine!" 

"Roger was absent the day in kindergarten when everyone learned to share." Mark adds unnecessarily.

The bad best friend award goes to Mr. Cohen.

For whatever reason, Mimi throws a piece of chicken at me. It hits me on the nose and falls to the floor. I will never understand these people.

"Don't throw food!" Mark dives to pick it up. Collins collapses on an armchair. 

Now I'm never going to get them to go away…

"Ooh CDs!" Angel says, referring to my collection as if she's never seen such a thing. For a minute I think maybe she'll just admire them from afar. But no, my friends just couldn't be that cooperative. She starts to walk towards them, trips, and knocks the rack over.

"Whoops! Sorry Roger, I hope that's okay."

"It's _fine_." I assure her through gritted teeth.

Those only took three fucking days of my sad life to organize.

"Good." She smiles. 

Mimi continues to throw food at me.

"Thanks Meemz, now I'm not writing a song about you." 

She pouts irritably and ceases the food throwing. 

"OOH!" Maureen chirps, "WRITE A SONG ABOUT ME! _Maureeeeeeeeen,_" she sings. She furrows her brow, trying to think. "What rhymes with Maureen?" 

"Chlorine?" Mark supplies. Idiot.

"Thanks Marky! Umm. _Maureeeeeeeeen_…smells like _chlorineeeeeeeeee._" 

"What else rhymes with Maureen?" Angel questions to no one in particular, continuing to knock things over. 

Oh wonderful. The loft has become a sing-a-long. 

"Taurine?" Mimi suggests.

"What the fuck is Taurine?" I ask.

"It's a chemical." Mimi explains. Apparently my girlfriend's a chemist.

Maureen shrugs, "I've never heard of it."

"They put it in energy drinks."

"I drink energy drinks." She informs us. As if we care.

"Taurine's made out of cow piss." Collins says randomly. Angel makes a face.

EW, I drink Rockstar. 

"That's disgusting!" Mark cries.

"I don't believe you," Mimi objects.

"Look it up," Collins shrugs. 

"Okay Taurine is not going in the Maureen song." Maureen decides. Smart move. I wonder how much cow piss I've drank. Never having another energy drink again.

"As educational as this all is, I think it's about time for you all to leave me be." _Now that you've broken my rack of CDs and thrown food all over the place._

They all ignore me anyway. Maureen picks up my guitar.

"PUT THAT DOWN!" I may be mad at her, but no one will touch Gertrude but me! Yes her name is Gertrude. Don't laugh; it's my grandmother's name. 

"I'm going to help you write the song!" Maureen whines, as if I should appreciate the grand intrusion. 

"I DON'T WANT HELP!"

She shrugs, and as if in slow motion, my world shatters as she breaks a string.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

"Chill out," Collins laughs.

"CHILL OUT! I CAN'T PAY TO FIX THAT! THAT'S MY ONLY GUITAR! YOU! OUT! ALL OF YOU!"

Everything was fine until these fucktards invaded my life! 

The five of them look at each other, and simultaneously break into hysterical laughter.

"IS SOMETHING FUNNY?" 

What more damage could they possibly do?

Mark tries to calm himself, "Sorry Roger, you just take everything so seriously!" He chuckles, "I'm sure it still sounds fine! I'll fix it!" He picks up the cord to the amplifier, and smiling, shoves the plug into the extension cord where a million other things are hooked up. The power blows. "Damn."

Deep breaths Roger. Do not attack. He is your _friend._ Nothing else can go wrong now.

Angel, Mimi, and Maureen shriek in the darkness. Like it's so fucking scary. The sun has gone away. Oh no. 

"I'll light a candle!" Collins volunteers, getting up and digging through a drawer for one. He rummages through his pocket for a lighter and ignites it.

"NO!" Of course, when everything else is going wrong, add FIRE to the mix. That's safe.

"What?" Collins sighs irately, "You don't trust me with a candle? Fine, here. Catch Mark."

And he THROWS the LIT CANDLE to the boy who CANNOT CATCH. 

Mark grabs for the candle. It flies over his head and lands on the oh-so-flammable couch, which goes up in flames within seconds. Screams ensue as the fire alarm blares. 

Golly gee, I love my friends.

**A/N: That's pretty much the lamest, most OOC, retarded crackfic I have ever written. If I don't get reviews I'll probably delete it. Yeah well. **

Yes, energy drinks really do contain a chemical called Taurine that is extracted from bull urine. Look it up. :)

Woo. Review ! 


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